The Academy courtyard emptied in uneven waves as students filtered out into the streets. Voices overlapped, complaints about drills dissolving into plans for dinner and evening play. Itachi walked through it without altering pace. No one tried to stop him.
He didn't replay the spar. He didn't replay the demonstration.
He replayed Daichi's words.
Strength exists to protect what matters.
Peace requires strength.
The idea was simple. Clean. It fit together.
But clean ideas were heavy when carried alone.
At the next intersection, Itachi didn't turn toward the Uchiha district immediately. He shifted his weight, leapt lightly to a rooftop, and moved without rushing. His footfalls were soft, measured, no unnecessary acceleration. The village thinned as he moved outward toward the treeline.
He wasn't wandering.
He was expected.
Shisui was already there.
The older boy stood near the riverbank, idly spinning a kunai around his finger while watching the current move around a half-submerged rock. He didn't look up when Itachi landed.
"You're late," Shisui said casually.
Itachi glanced at the sun's position. "I'm not."
Shisui grinned without turning. "Still counts."
Itachi stepped closer. There was no formal greeting. No bow. No performance. Just familiarity.
Shisui flicked the kunai once and caught it by the handle. "So. Academy."
"Yes."
"That bad?"
"It's structured."
Shisui finally looked at him, amused. "That's worse."
Itachi didn't respond.
Shisui gestured toward the small clearing where several wooden boards hung from thin wire, swaying slightly in the breeze. A few were carved into circles. Others were plain.
"Show me."
Itachi didn't need clarification.
He drew three shuriken and stepped forward. His breathing didn't change. His shoulders didn't rise. The first throw left his hand cleanly, striking the outer edge of a moving board just as it tilted away. The second curved slightly on release, catching a different board mid-swing. The third hit center on a rotating target that had almost aligned with the sun.
No wasted motion.
The boards continued moving.
Shisui watched without comment.
Itachi drew again, this time adjusting for wind without looking at the leaves to measure it. His wrist snapped sharply, then settled. The hits were consistent. Efficient.
Shisui tilted his head slightly.
"You fix mistakes too fast," he said.
Itachi glanced at him.
"You miss by a hair, and you correct like you missed by a mile."
Itachi considered that. "If I don't, it spreads."
Shisui chuckled. "Yeah, but overcorrection makes you stiff."
He stepped forward and flicked two stones at different boards without drawing a weapon. Both struck with lazy accuracy.
"You're thinking too much before you throw." Shisui continued. "Sometimes you just let it breathe."
Itachi didn't argue.
He threw again.
This time, he let the release carry without tightening his shoulder afterward. The shuriken curved naturally with the board's swing and struck closer to center.
Shisui's grin widened slightly. "See?"
He moved then, not quickly, not dramatically, just shifting his weight and throwing while stepping sideways. The shuriken left his hand mid-motion, striking a smaller target Itachi hadn't even noticed had been tied higher in the tree.
Effortless.
That was the difference.
Itachi's were clean.
Shisui's felt loose.
Shisui suddenly closed distance without warning, not using full body flicker, just stepping in faster than expected. Itachi pivoted immediately, guard rising, eyes tracking. He anticipated the first angle.
Shisui shifted mid-step.
Itachi adjusted again.
For a fraction of a second, he almost read it.
Almost.
Shisui's fingers tapped his shoulder lightly before Itachi completed the counter.
"Too serious," Shisui said, stepping back.
Itachi lowered his guard slowly. "If I'm not serious, someone gets hurt."
Shisui studied him for a moment, then shrugged lightly. "You can't protect everything."
The words weren't heavy when he said them.
They just existed.
Itachi didn't respond immediately.
They sat near the river afterward, the sound of water smoothing the quiet between them. Shisui leaned back on his elbows, staring at the sky as if nothing in the world pressed against him. Itachi remained upright, hands resting on his knees.
"What'd they teach you today?" Shisui asked.
"The Will of Fire."
Shisui hummed once, thoughtful but not mocking. "That's a big thing to hand to first-years."
"It keeps the village together."
Shisui's eyes shifted sideways toward him. "Maybe."
He watched a leaf detach from a branch and drift toward the river.
"You're an Uchiha. You'll handle it."
Itachi absorbed that without visible reaction.
The sun had lowered enough to stretch shadows across the water.
When Itachi stood to leave, Shisui didn't stop him.
As he moved back toward the village, Itachi's steps were as controlled as before.
Strength wasn't just about hitting first.
It was about choosing what would remain after the strike.
He didn't feel conflicted.
Only aware.
And awareness, he believed, was the beginning of strength.